


PDA

by Spikedluv



Series: Trope Bingo Challenge [1]
Category: American Idol RPF, David Cook (Musician)
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, Established Relationship, In Vino Veritas, M/M, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time it happened, Archie was surprised by it.  Not that it occurred, but that Cook was able to look at Archie with a new depth of want, able to convey that want through the slightest brush of his fingers against Archie’s skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PDA

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [to anyone who's listening](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746186) by [abovetheruins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins). 



> Written for round 6 of Trope Bingo on DW for the _in vino veritas_ square.
> 
> When Abovetheruins commented on my Trope Bingo card, she mentioned that her card shared some tropes with mine. From that innocent comment, this challenge was born. We chose one of the tropes our cards had in common and both wrote a fic in our shared fandom to see how we each interpreted the trope. We set a posting date and word limit so we didn’t procrastinate or get over our heads with a story that kept going, and going. *makes Law & Order music* These are those stories.
> 
> Written: January 17, 2016

David Cook was not a man to hide his feelings. He unashamedly cried at sad movies (Archie had since banned _Marley and Me_ from the house), and he’d unselfconsciously sling an arm across Archie’s shoulder during an interview, tucking him under his arm and smiling down at him as if Archie’d hung the moon. And that was before they’d officially started dating.

Things hadn’t changed post-dating; no matter where they were, Cook thought nothing of reaching out to take Archie’s hand in his, just holding it in his palm, or playing with Archie’s fingers. It made eating or writing music difficult, but Archie had adjusted. It was worth it for the warmth that swelled in his belly whenever Cook touched him, or smiled at him, or slipped his arm around Archie’s waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Given Cook’s freedom with his affection, Archie hadn’t thought he could get any more demonstrative. The first time Archie had been hanging out with Cook and some of their friends not long after they’d gotten together, Archie discovered just how wrong he’d been.

Cook was only working on his second beer when Archie noticed that every look Cook sent his way, every touch, had taken on an intensity that Archie hadn’t experienced before. (Not even back when he’d been crushing on Cook and looking for meaning in every word, or look, or touch.) Cook’s eyes had gone dark and liquid, and a heated flush crawled over Archie’s skin every time he felt Cook’s gaze on him. The brush of Cook’s fingers against his own when Archie handed him another beer, the heavy heat of his hand on Archie’s hip when they passed each other in the kitchen, felt like it was promising more than such an innocent touch had any right to.

Cook was standing with Andrew when he pulled Archie into his side. The two of them were talking football, but the brush of Cook’s thumb against Archie’s neck, the heat in his gaze, said something altogether different to Archie. Later, after everyone had left and they were alone, Cook had made good ( _very_ good) on every unspoken promise.

~*~

Archie thought it might have been a one-off. Archie was wrong. It happened again. And again. (Once when they were having dinner at a fancy restaurant with two other couples, which did not make Archie blush when he thought about Cook’s hand heavy on the inside of his thigh while he seemed to be paying one hundred percent of his attention to the conversation going around the table.) And every time it happened, Archie was surprised by it. Not that it occurred, but that Cook was able to look at Archie with a new depth of want, able to convey that want through the slightest brush of his fingers against Archie’s skin.

Several months after that first time, Archie had a Live in the Vineyard concert at Napa Valley. Cook was able to clear his schedule so he could be there for it, which made the two days Archie’d be there for work seem almost like a romantic getaway. After sound check the night of Archie’s concert, he and Cook were led to a private corner at La Toque, where Cook had made reservations. To this day Archie couldn’t remember what they’d been served. His throat had gone dry in anticipation when Cook had agreed to try a wine sampler.

Cook didn’t get extra touchy-feely every time he had a sip of alcohol, but something told archie that if anything brought it out of him it would be a couple days spent at Napa Valley. Archie hadn’t been wrong. After his second sample, Cook had leaned back in his char and stretched out his leg to hook his foot around Archie’s. It wasn’t even a sexual touch, but it was secretive, hidden beneath the table, and Archie couldn’t help the shiver that went through him as he imagined what it foretold.

“Something wrong?” Cook said, voice wine deepened.

“You know what’s wrong,” Archie muttered.

Cook leaned forward, pulling his foot back as he did. “Archie?”

“You’re starting to get extra . . . demonstrative,” Archie said after glancing around.

Cook looked wounded. “Does that bother you?”

“No!” Archie said quickly because he couldn’t stand to see that look on Cook’s face, and also because it was true, but he could do nothing about the heat creeping up his neck. “Not like that.”

Cook studied Archie for a moment, then his face cleared and he smirked. Archie didn’t say anything when Cook leaned back in the chair again and hooked his foot back around Archie’s. Or when Cook raised his third small sampler glass of wine to his lips and looked at Archie over the rim as he took a sip.

After the detritus of their meal had been cleared away, Cook ordered coffee for himself and a dessert with two forks. Archie wasn’t sure he’d be able to eat it – his stomach was twisting with the nerves he still got before performing and the feelings Cook was rousing inside him – but Cook moved his chair closer to Archie’s so they could share. He placed his arm along the back of Archie’s chair, barely touching him, but Archie’s skin tingled as if he’d gotten too close to a live wire.

Cook took Archie’s hand as they left the restaurant to head to the venue. Archie stumbled once, when he caught himself wishing that Cook was taking him back to their room. Cook caught Archie, his arm going around Archie’s waist, which made things one hundred percent better and worse at the same time.

Archie somehow made it through the concert without forgetting any lyrics or mangling his banter with the small audience. Cook watched from the side of the stage the entire time, his gaze a caress that made Archie’s skin prickle and burn. During the meet and greet, while Archie was signing autographs and having photos taken, Cook was a constant presence at the back of his mind. Each time Archie glanced at him, Cook looked more relaxed than he had the time before, and the more Cook relaxed, the more wound up Archie became.

Archie thought it would be over quickly when they finally made it to their room, but Cook took it slow, took his time mapping all of Archie’s hot spots, bringing him to the brink and forcing him back until Archie thought he was going to burst with the need to come.

When he was finally sprawled out on the bed like a limp noodle (Cook had laughed uproariously the first time Archie had used that simile), chest rising and falling with each panting breath, covered in come and sweat, his fingers not doing much more than resting in Cook’s hair while Cook nuzzled at his neck, Cook breathed, “I love you, David,” against Archie’s skin.

Archie’s next breath caught in his throat. When they’d first started dating, they’d agreed to take things slow. They’d danced around this thing that was growing between them for years, with Archie trying to balance his beliefs with his feelings for Cook, another man, and Cook getting to the place where he could admit that his feelings for Archie were more than platonic, and the instinct to jump right in with both feet was strong.

Archie moved to Nashville and stayed with Cook while he was looking for a place of his own. He’d unpacked his bags in Cook’s guest room, but he spent most nights (okay, all of them) in Cook’s bed. Until the day they agreed that it was ridiculous to keep up the pretense that Archie was staying in the guest room (or that he was still looking for an apartment), and Cook cleared out some drawers and closet space and Archie moved his clothes to the master bedroom.

They’d never said the words, though, as if they could still pretend they were taking things slow if they kept them bottled up. But Archie had thought them a million times. “I love you, too, Dave,” Archie said, and it was almost a relief to finally let them out.

Cook’s lips curled up into a smile against Archie’s neck before he levered himself off the bed to get a cloth to clean them both up.

~*~

Archie soon got used to Cook becoming even more amorous after a couple drinks (the way you get used to the first drop on a roller coaster, in the sense that you know it’s coming, and you think you’re prepared for the way it makes your stomach twist, but you never really are), but he hadn’t, not in a million years, expected this. Cook fell asleep with a soft snore, as if he had no idea how he’d just turned Archie’s world inside out, but Archie lay awake for a long time with Cook’s words ringing in his ears.

_I wanna marry you, David Archuleta._

The next morning Archie woke alone in their bed. Cook’s side was cool, but Archie knew he was somewhere inside the house because even at the end of the hall where the master bedroom was located he could smell the coffee Cook had brewed. Archie had slept in later than usual because he’d been unable to fall asleep. Which reminded him of what had kept him awake.

Archie was tempted to crawl back under the covers, but he forced himself out of bed. He used the bathroom, then pulled on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and went in search of Cook. There was a steaming mug of hot cocoa on the counter as if Cook had some sixth sense that told him Archie had woken. Cook himself was standing at the stove, hair standing straight up despite the fact that he’d been awake for a while, and dressed in an identical manner to Archie. He gave Archie a sheepish look over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Cook said when he’d turned back to the eggs frying in the pan on the stove.

Archie pressed against Cook’s back, slipping one arm around his waist, and reaching out to snag a piece of bacon with the other. “About what?”

Cook stiffened, then relaxed, but too late to hide it from Archie. “Cook, what’s wrong?”

Cook remained silent while he plated the eggs. Archie stepped back so Cook could carry them to the island, and he carried over the plate of bacon.

“What I said last night,” Cook said when he once again had his back to Archie, buttering the toast that had conveniently popped up.

“You didn’t mean it?” Archie said. He hadn’t known how he’d felt about it when Cook had mentioned it last night; marriage was a big step, a huge commitment, and they’d only been together (officially, not counting all the years they’d danced around each other) for six months, and the idea of it scared Archie as much as it excited him. But the thought that Cook hadn’t meant it made his stomach twist, and not in the good way.

Cook turned around quickly, a slice of toast in one hand, butter knife in the other. “What? No! Of course I meant it!”

Arche watched a dab of butter slide off the knife and splat onto the floor. “You did?” Archie said when his brain finally parsed Cook’s response.

“Yes, of course I did.” Cook took a step forward, then glanced at the toast and knife he still held. He set both down on the counter and wiped grease and crumbs off his fingers onto his boxers before continuing to Archie.

“Cook,” Archie said reflexively. The butter grease was going to leave a stain.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cook said, dismissing it with a wave. “I’ve been thinking about it. Us. Getting married.”

Archie forgot about the stain. “You have?”

“A lot,” Cook admitted. I didn’t intend to spring it on you like that, though. I mean . . .” Cook ran a hand through already mussed hair. “I just fell asleep after I said it.”

“Yeah,” Archie said. “I kind of freaked out a little bit,” he admitted.

Cook took Archie’s hands. “If you don’t want to, or you’re not ready . . .”

“I do!” Archie said quickly. “I am . . .”

“You are?” Cook said, frowning. “Because you look kind of . . .” Cook widened his eyes and made a pretty awful ‘deer in the headlights’ expression.

Archie snorted a laugh. “That’s so bad, Cook.” He smoothed his fingers over Cook’s face. “To be honest, I do feel kind of . . .” Archie made an exaggerated surprised face. “. . . but not in a bad way?”

“Is that a question?” Cook said.

“No,” Archie said, frustrated at his own inability to get his thoughts across. “It’s just . . . I’ve loved you for a very long time, even though I didn’t really get it at first, and I feel like . . . an embarrassment of riches?” Archie made a face. “Because you love me back.”

“Yeah,” Cook said, his eyes growing suspiciously wet, “I really do.”

Archie stepped into Cook without letting go of his hands, and pressed his face against his shoulder. “This, with you, is more than I ever thought it could be.”

Cook pressed a kiss to the side of Archie’s head. “Is it enough for you?”

Archie raised his face. “Is it greedy to ask for more?”

“No,” Cook said. “It’s really not.”

Cook used his chin to tilt Archie’s head back and found his lips. Archie squeezed Cook’s fingers and went up on his toes a little bit.

“Hey, Cook,” Archie said.

“What?” Cook said, breathless.

“I wanna marry you, too.”

“Awesome,” Cook said. “But we’ll have to think of a much cooler proposal story to tell our grandkids, okay?”

Archie’s stomach swooped. “Okay,” he agreed. It was the last coherent word he spoke for a while, except for, “Uck, Cook, eggs!” when Cook hiked him up onto the island.

~*~

When the first interviewer asked Cook and Archie about the rings they wore, they happily, if shyly, admitted that they were engaged. The inevitable ‘who asked who and how’ questions came up.

Archie said, “Cook made me breakfast.”

“A romantic breakfast in bed?” the interviewer gushed.

“It was perfect,” Archie said, without actually answering the question. He remembered how they’d despoiled the kitchen, and Archie had insisted on disinfecting every surface later – much later. “Except for the eggs,” he added.

Cook threw his head back and laughed. Archie tried to keep a straight face, but Cook’s laughter was infectious. A grin broke out and Archie giggled.

The whole world was ablaze with the story of Cook and Archie’s engagement, and the story of Cook’s romantic proposal. Years down the road, though, they told their grandchildren the true story of how Cook proposed. They already knew what a dork their grandpa Cook was, so none of them was surprised.

The End


End file.
